


The Need To Feel Something Great

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ash and Jo are biological siblings fight me, Ash's full name is Ashton because I'm not very creative, Dean being a major pain in everyone's ass, Ellen and John don't get enough recognition tbh, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Harvelle/Winchester family, I'm going to try to keep this shiz fluffy, John Winchester is a teddy bear and you know it, M/M, Multi, little to no angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John Winchester isn't such a self-deprecating bastard and Ellen Harvelle is more than happy to forgive and move forward.</p><p>{{A couple of prompts that I get from Tumblr and also that I conjure up in my cotton candy brain}}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Is A Powerful Word

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Mild homophobia and smut, but other than that, I can't think of anything too awful. It's a fluffy story.

Ellen _loved_ having her family around, she really did.

She hardly got to see them, so when they did stop by she relished in having them - and their husbands and wives and boyfriends and girlfriends and such - all under one roof for once. Besides, with Sam so busy with his law practice in California and Dean running from state to state with different hunts and cold trails, she hardly ever got to see the _boys_ \- and that was a feat in itself, seeing as Dean stayed at the house more often than not. Ash came around often enough, but only in ten to twenty minute spurts - he was busy with apprenticing some rich mathematics professor - it was all quantum physics and shit Ellen didn't bother to wrap her head around. Her only daughter, Jo hardly _ever_ came around, despite the fact that she only lived one city over - she was busy with college and helping out her girlfriend's different causes and protests. Ellen supposed she was glad that Charlie had managed to convince the girl to go to college in the first place.

And John was _still_ hunting. Sometimes with Dean, and sometimes without - although she warned him that if he pulled another Bill Harvelle on her, she'd kick his ass to hell and back - and sometimes he'd go with hunters that not even _she_ knew. No matter what though, there was always a case in the little room they'd dubbed the 'office'.

She saw all of them at the same time at least five times a year - once on her birthday, once on John's birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, and for the annual family barbeque on July Fourth. Other than that, she was away from the kids and her - boyfriend? lover? -, and Empty Nest Syndrome really kicked her ass.

So, of course she _loved_ having them around. They were her babies - even John, despite him being a grown ass man and sleeping in her bed. But _damn_. They could be a pain in her _ass_.

She's thinking all these things as she kneads and rolls the dough for a _second_ pie, seeing as the first one was destroyed by Dean almost as soon as he set foot in the house. He'd entered the house yelling for 'little Sammy' and when he'd rounded the corner to say hello to Ellen, he'd eyed the pie. Not an hour later, and Ellen caught Dean slipping his lover the empty foil pan to throw in the back dumpster. It had been apple, and she'd made it for the barbeque the next day. Apple wasn't anyone's particular favorite, but she was out of all the other pie fillings and all she had at the time was apple. She'd planned to hide the pie from Dean before he could get back home, but it'd been on the cooling rack and she hadn't had the time to stow it away.

And now she needed to go the store. The store, which was a ten mile drive out from the house.

Seeing as Dean had been the one to destroy the pie in the _first_ place, Ellen sends him and the angel, Castiel to the store with a list of fillings that she needs. Cherry, Dean's favorite, is put at the top of the list. Despite the chance to have his favorite pie, Dean is not happy about making the drive in the sweltering summer heat, especially since the Impala's air conditioning is down.

"Awe, Elle," Dean says, presenting her with his best sad eyes and folding his fingers together to beg. He had his these wide, green-eyes that always melted her heart. Dean knew what buttons to push on anyone to get his way, and he knew that Ellen was a sucker for his eyes - which were soft innocent despite him being far from the titles - and of course, he was like a giant adorable baby. But Ellen was also a mother and she knew when to put her foot down and say 'no'. Even if it meant looking away from him to say it.

"Now, don't you go 'awe Elle' on me," she says, a stern bass to her voice that makes Dean's shoulder's sag. He was bordering on thirty-years-old and Ellen still made him feel like he was ten. "You made your bed now you go on and lie in it. And since _you_ helped him out, you'll be going with him, Angel-boy. And that'll be the last I hear of it."

Castiel cheeks burn bright with shame and he looks down like a scolded child. Castiel's reflexes are sharp as he delivers a swift punch to Dean's shoulder to get him to shut up - a trick he picked up from the other Winchester son. Ellen hands Dean the money and sends them both on their way, shaking her head as she does. Dean's grumbling - "Damn woman..." - and Castiel's angry hissing - "You get me dragged into your mess all the time, Dean! I do not appreciate it!" - can be heard all the way out into the Impala. Right up until the engine starts up and the doors to the car are closed.

Ellen is about to return to kneading her dough when two strong figures run into her and roughly shove her aside from the dough. Ellen loses her balance and almost falls, but luckily, Sam is behind her to catch her. When she's able to focus on the culprits who knocked her over, her face falls. Ellen was the mother, but sometimes she was subjected to 'scoldings' of her own. Such as this one.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting, making us kids do all this shit." Jo mutters before crossing her arms over her chest. Ellen rolls her eyes - she shouldn't feel ashamed for trying to make her family a good meal on the Fourth of July, and she voices this.

"Oh, you should," Sam pipes up. "Making pie and slaving away, tch, tch, tch. If I weren't so sure I'd get grounded by my dad's girlfriend, I'd put you in a timeout young lady." Both Jo and Ash exchange looks before they laugh out loud, and Sam's cheeks turn pink. Even Ellen turns around to give him a lazy smirk and raises her eyebrow. The sentence had meant to make Ellen get off her feet, but it'd come out more slutty teacher than scolding father.

"N-not like t-that, you guys! Sh-she's my dad's girlfriend for Christ's sake! I-I just... I.. I didn't mean it that way... Ellen, I didn't mean to-to disrespect you I was trying to- ugh, why is everything sexual with the Harvelle side of the family?" he asks, storming off towards the living room. Jo follows him with her laughter, prepared to tease him about not being happy with Gabriel in his bed.

"Did you ever pause to think that maybe more than one Winchester wanted to nail you?" Ash asks once they're, reaching around her to taste some of the sugary raw dough. Ellen chuckles and swats blindly at his hand, but Ash isn't quite done with the jokes - or tasting the dough. "I can picture it now - the first ever woman to have tamed all three of those motherfuckers. Next thing I know, Dean's going to be drooling after you like a dog in heat. Why, I believe you are getting more than a fair share of Winchester. _Share_."

"You are so full of shit," Ellen laughs, and her voice is airy and light. Ash laughs with her and leans against the oven to chat. He was the only one out of the seven of them - Dean, Jo, Sam, Ash, Gabriel, Charlie and Castiel - to ever sit with her while she cooked and talked to her - hell, he was the only one besides Castiel that she didn't need to scold every fifteen minutes. Even when he was little, and it was just him and Jo, he'd pull up a chair near the refrigerator and help her out and talk to her about school - or ask her about his father and what the man had been like before he died. Ellen is always grateful when Ash comes around - he's the only one that appreciates her food as more than just easy nourishment, and the only one of her kids that is able to see past his mom and glimpse the soft, lovable toughness that attracted John to her.

It's basically like raising her best friend.

"And you love me for it," he says, tilting his beer towards her. She snatches it from his fingers and takes a swig. Almost instantly, Ash steals it back. But he does do her the favor of grabbing one from the fridge and popping the cap for her. Ellen salutes him in a silent thanks.

"Ah, that I do, Ashy. How are things with you and... er..."

"Ma, her name is Bela. And she and I are... going through a rough patch." Ash and 'Bela' were always going through some rough patch or another - the two had severe abandonment and commitment issues that they insisted on pushing around and away. That is, until those issues broiled up into some big fury that left both of them hurt and on the verge of ending a ten-year trap of a relationship.

"Right, of course, how could I forget?" Ellen asks, pushing at his chest. He was blocking the flour. "What happened this time?"

"I asked her to marry me."

"And how did _that_ end bad? Isn't marriage supposed to be all fluffy and sweet?" Ash snorts.

"Not if you've asked ten times already and each time has been shot down with a meaner, colder, 'no'." Ellen's lip twitches, and she thinks of John and that small red box sitting on his nightstand. He'd asked her _twice_ in the four years that they'd been together, and she'd said no both times. She'd had her reasons, but both times it had killed a little part of her to see John groveling for her to make him her husband - and John didn't grovel, so she knew he was desperate for this. After the second time, he'd just kissed her temple and set it on the nightstand. It'd been there for the better half of a year now. The ordeal hadn't really changed anything about their relationship in anyway - they were still close and very much in love -, but she could tell John's ego had been badly bruised.

She wonders if she'll hold out until the tenth ask. She wonders if John will wait that long.

"Sometimes a lady needs time to collect herself before jumping into things," she says, pushing all thoughts of John from her mind. "You can't expect her-"

"Ah, ma, don't give me that. She's still hung up on some old dude named Rufus - won't talk about 'em, but apparently their relationship was all flying unicorns until he left her for someone his age."

"I'm sorry, Ashton. I don't know what to say. All I know is that if you're really ready to propose to this girl ten times, then you need to be ready to propose ten thousand more times. I know, it's tough, but you gotta be patient with us women. We take some warming up to - even if it feels like you've known us forever," she encourages, ruffling the 'business' part of his mullet. Ash hisses and rearranges the honey brown tendrils of hair, but she knows by the gentle smile he gives her that he's appreciative of the advice.

They sit like that for awhile, their conversation moving from Bela to Sam and Gabriel to Jo and Charlie - at one point, Ash points out that she and John had more rainbow in their blood than a Pegasus, and she actually has to stop to laugh. The conversation has just made a turn into her and John's love life when the knight in shining armor Dean fucking Winchester bursts through the door, the crinkling sounds of bags and clanking of cans telling her that he did his job without being kicked out of the grocery store.

"Honey, I'm _home_!" Dean bellows, and Ash moves out of the way for the incoming tornado that was Dean Winchester - especially when _he_ was in a particularly good mood. As expected, Dean bursts into the kitchen with flourish, swinging the two grocery store bags on his arms and humming some old song under his breath. Castiel follows behind, rubbing his temples - Dean obviously blasted his music on top-notch volume. Ellen gives him a small pitying smile, but says nothing as she removes two cans of cherry filling from the bags.

"Put the rest up on the pie shelf." Pies had been made so often in the six years she'd known Dean - and the four years she'd practically been living with him - that there had become a shelf with only the materials to bake pies. It used to be lined with unhealthy snack foods and cases of sodas, but then both Jo and Ash moved out and the 'Junk Shelf' transformed into the 'Pie Shelf'. Fillings, materials for her homemade dough, and foil pans that Jo and Sam used to spray with canola oil for her. It was the better known as 'Dean's shelf', since Dean was usually the one to get the first and last slice of every pie.

Dean obeys, stocking the cans up on his little shelf all while singing a happy little tune.

"What's crawled up your asshole, Winchester?" Ash asks, sending his mother a wary glance. Castiel pushes past the three of them, snatching Ash's beer on his way out into the living room. Jo gives a loud screech of delight for her favorite angel - "Hey!" cries Gabriel - and things quiet down in the living area a bit.

"Oh wait, don't tell me. Cas?" Ash continues his jab. Ellen rolls her eyes at her sons open crudeness, the blatant remarks about Dean's sex life not making him bat an eye in the least. At least Jo had the decency to roll her eyes and walk away when the topic became too talked about - especially with her and Dean's 'history'. Ash had no filter - and apparently no problem with the images of a boy around his age sleeping with one of his closest friends.

Dean turns around, a predatory smirk on his lips. "Well, since you _mention_ it..." and like that Dean is gone. Ellen counts to seven in her head before she hears Castiel laugh and the disgusted groans from others. She really did have no idea what had gotten into him, but whatever it was, she wasn't going to complain.

"Is it bad that those two are kind of cute? And kind of gross, now that I think about it. I'm gonna go bug 'em," Ash announces, although he knows that his mother is more focused on the sounds coming from the living room - "You're just as bad as mom and John!" "Ugh, get a room, jesus!" - and less on her sons departure. Ellen has brief thought of feeling bad for him - with his problems with Bela and all the couples around, he must be the slightest bit uncomfortable - but then someone's hands are gripping her waist and all thoughts about her son are gone. At least, for now.

The smell of pine, cheap cologne and sweat fills her nostrils as she leans into the sturdy frame behind her. She can tell by his blatant affections that he's in a good mood. Ellen longs to milk it for what it's worth, but John's random spurts of affection usually have a sadder undertone.

"Alright, alright," she says. "What's eating you Winchesters today?" John brushes his sweaty strands of hair from his eyes, and large pools of green peer lustily up at her. He's in more than a good mood, he's feeling fucking fantastic.

"Can't a man have a moment with his girlfriend without having to give reason?" John asks, his hearty laughter filling the small kitchen. His hands find their way under her shirt and Ellen hums. His hands are big and strong and for a moment, they make her forget what she was supposed to be doing. But then she remembers and she places her hands over his and pushes down.

"A man? Yes. You? Hell no. What is it? What's biting you?" John beams at her, his eyes glistening with pride and love. He gives her a toothy, cheeky grin and squeezes her hands in his own.

"I have good news. I have _great_ news."

"And what's that?" Ellen asks again, growing impatient. Why did he have to maintain that mysterious allure so bad? Obviously done teasing her, John takes her hands in his. Immediately, she spots the blocky chunk sticking out of his jeans pocket, and she knows what's coming. He moves too quickly to get down on one knee, and soft red velvet pokes from his front pocket.

Ellen tries to remember if the little red box had been on the nightstand that morning.

"I'm going to marry the most beautiful woman on earth, and I am not going to stop until she says yes," John says, popping the lid on the box. The small, shiny diamond glistens up at her - catching the afternoon sun and sparkling. "They say the third time's a charm."

"I hope you two are happy," Ellen shrugs coldly, snatching her hand away from John and sliding from the counter - _how the hell did she get up there_ anyway _?_ He groans and grabs her from behind again, pressing a soft kiss to the crook of her neck. She slides his arms off of her and begins to storm away, towards the living room.

"Ellen-" John begins, but is cut off by a pair of chocolate brown eyes sending him a death glare. His mouth snaps shut.

"I said _no_. The answer is _no_!"

"But I love you. And I don't like it when we go to the lake or when we go into town and all those other men are... are _gawking_ at you. Like you're a piece of meat to be devoured and not savored. They don't see you with a wedding ring so they just fucking assume- I just fucking want you to- I want-" he begins to choke up and trip over his words, and Ellen softens a bit. John hangs his head, but Ellen cups his face in her hands and gives him her best 'I'm sorry but-' look. It's enough to make him shut up for the moment.

"I'm sorry, John. But I can't... not while you still hunt. I'm sorry," she replies and its out in the open. The reason why she'd been saying 'no' was because she didn't want a repeat of William Harvelle and Jason Mitchell. She didn't be a widow a second time - and she couldn't be if there was no husband to widow her, no husband to leave her alone again - and she definitely didn't want to be ten-year-old Ellen with the wide brown eyes, kissing her father's cold carcass before burning it.

"This is because of..."

"I lost two of my men to the life and you... no. You're _mine,_ always and forever, but I won't be your wife until I can go to bed at night without worrying about you and your whereabouts. I won't be your wife until I know you're safe. _Permanently_."

John nods and pulls her closer to him. She smells of lavender and sugar and apple pie and it's a sweet smell that makes him devour her mouth with a kiss. Ellen leans into it, happy to avoid the crisis of an argument.

"I'll leave the life," he says, when she pulls away for air. "for good. And then I'll ask you again one day, and you'll say yes to me, woman, else I may just keel over from heartbreak."

"I _promise_."

* * *

"She's going to be Mrs. Harvelle-Winchester," Sam says easing away from the opening where he and Jo had been peeping in on the couple. They'd expected some dirt to hold against the two - something to make Ellen red and John ready to put a bullet in Sam's ass. But they got something much fluffier than they'd bargained for.

"No, I don't think it works that way... or does it? Don't you drop the original surname? Like, she dropped Mitchelle to become Harvelle?" Jo asks, making her way back to her lovers warm arms. Charlie wraps her arms around Jo's waist and pulls her into her lap.

"Either way, Mom seems to be a magnet for Winchesters." Ash and Jo both snicker, sending sly glances to a red-faced Sam.

"Look out, Cas, else we might lose ol' Dean here to her prowess," Ash prods.

"Dean knows better," John says, entering the living area with a beer and a smug smile on his face. "Stay away from my woman, boy." Dean mock salutes, and mutters something under his breath that totally isn't a reference to Ellen's motherly like figure in his life.

"Your woman?" Ash asks. "You can call mother a lot of things - especially in the bedroom, although I'd rather she not be a 'naughty girl' - but she's always going to be _my_ woman."

"That's called incest," Jo points out. Ash glares at her. "What? I'm _just_ saying."

"You're supposed to be on my side, Joanna Beth!"

"You're supposed to be the smart one, Ashton Blake!"

Their bickering begins to take center attention, becoming a full fledged argument about 'smart brotherss who say stupid shit' - which Dean cheers on - and 'little sister sell-outs' - which Sam is more than happy to back-up - until Ellen comes to break it up. She gives each of them a flick on the ear before settling in John's lap to listen to the rest of the conversation.

"You can't be a mom and a girlfriend too," Ash grumbles, rubbing his reddening ear. "It's un-American."

 _You're right,_ Ellen thinks briefly, settling against John's chest and drinking in his musky scent. His arm comes around her waist and holds her still - to keep her from falling over. _I can't. But I could be a mother and a damned good wife._


	2. Thirty-Seventh's Time's A Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally, plotless, reasonless smut ahoy. I have not a single reason to write this yet I write it anyway, I don't even care anymore.

Ellen always put Jo, Ash and the Roadhouse before any of her _own_ needs. That's why, after Bill died, she only stole quick fucks behind the back shed before the kids came home from school. She never brought home a man while she was caring for her children and she never let her kids meet the men she'd fucked. It was just enough for her. Enough to tie her over until the aching in her belly and in between her legs became insatiable by her fingers again. She didn't need any more serious relationships anyways - she needed Bill and he was dead. Relationships were overrated - no matter how necessary it was to relieve her sexual tension.

Eventually that rule - she called it rule twenty-nine, despite there only being two other rules she had for life - changed when John came around. At first he'd leave right after they fucked, press a quick kiss to her temple and be gone with the shadows by light. But then he stopped leaving in the dead of night and started making her kids breakfast. He stopped groaning Mary's name in the middle of the night and helped the kids with their homework. And it wasn't quite love then, because wounds were still raw and John was always indebted to Mary Campbell, but it worked.

And she didn't have to worry about keeping a condom buried in her back pocket because she slept with the same man and it was _good_.

Then the life took him too - not literally, but he was there one day and gone the next without a single fucking note - and she bucked up and went back to her old routine. She held fast to Ellen Harvelle - Ellen Mitchell was dead, she was killed by a teen pregnancy and a dead father - and made excuses for why John wasn't around anymore. It was bad, she knew, when someone bent her over the bar at three in the morning and all she could think about was John motherfucking Winchester.

Ellen curses herself every time they leave without pressing a gentle kiss to her hair or checking in to say 'bye-bye' to little Jo.

~.~.~

Sam and Dean Winchester waltz into her life a year after John stops showing up in her bed and she curses herself to hell for asking about John. She tells herself it's just her lusting after the man again - wanting something in anyway she can get it - and wipes down the bar with a beaten up old rag. She tells herself to calm the fuck down - she wasn't some old dog in heat, she was a thirty-eight-year-old woman who knew how to control herself.

Usually hunters coming through ask for simple things - "Three fingers of tequila, and get yourself something too pretty lady." or "Bottle of jaeger and a peaceful room to research too much to ask?" - but then one night John waltzes in and he orders a complicated drink that she hasn't heard since her early bartending years at that swanky nightclub.

"If you can't, just get me a bottle of whiskey," John says, all hunched over and staring. Ellen feels self-conscious all of a sudden, and it surprises her. She knew she looked good, she knew by the slaps and pinches that patrons slipped on her ass daily that she had a nice ass, and she knew by the way new hunter's tended to stare at her chest when they came in for the first time that her tits always looked great too.

Not to mention she'd lost all the weight from both Ash and Jo's birth. Not intentionally - because Ellen Harvelle was a lot of things but she was not _vain_ \- but because there weren't enough Hunters to go around and Bill sometimes needed help with a particularly difficult case. Although he joked he only 'let' her stay in action was because she looked sexy with a sawed off shotgun in her hands and murder in her eyes. Or at least, he _used_ to.

So why is this mans intent stare - at no particular part of her, his eyes begin to travel - making her shiver and straighten out her shirt. Is it the past that they've shared or is it just because he looks so damn good sitting at her bar?

"I haven't made it in awhile," she replies with a loose shrug. The drink. Right. "All those alcohols in one glass... should be called Hunter's Remedy." She's joking lightly, but his back straightens and his eyes narrow.

"Yeah. I guess."

Ellen sighs and slides him a bottle of whiskey while she makes his drink. She knew him too well not to know that the man had some demons in his heart, and if the look in his eyes was anything, most of them were fresh.

~.~.~

John walks in on her changing one night, but he doesn't walk _out_. Usually, when hunters 'accidentally' walk into her room on the way to one of the spare back rooms, they stutter an apology and runaway - their failed attempt at a peep show greeted by - in some cases - Ellen's raised eyebrow and cocked hip. Other times it was with a gun pointed to their temple, but that was just the bad days.

But John just walks in, a stern 'Dean' dying on his lips as he watches her slip a silk, white nightgown over a set of just as equally damning lacey white underwear. He catches a brief glimpse of smooth silky skin, pale with only as minimal scars possible - sans the stretch marks wrapping around her stomach. Something about that is so sexy to him that he leans in the doorway in hopes of catching another glimpse. Her hair is pulled back gently, and in the moonlight, she looks eons younger. He doesn't miss the dash of red lipstick on her lips, or the way her eyes seem darker and more thrilling with mascara and eyeliner and eyeshadow.

John's not surprised when his cock twitches in his jeans. How long since he's had a woman that knew how to handle him, that knew all the right buttons to push to have fireworks behind his eyelids?

"Don't think you're special," Ellen says, snapping him from his reverie. "This isn't for you."

A surge of rage takes John by surprise. He's surprised that he's able to keep himself for lurching at her, pushing her own the bed and covering her protests with his mouth. A defensive protectiveness, something smaller than what he had for the boys, but there all the same - and he hadn't seen the woman in years. There was something about the way she purred 'this isn't for you' that made his heart wrench and his anger flare up. He couldn't possibly still be in love with her, right? He'd thought he'd squashed that.

"Then who's it for?" he asks as calmly as possible, trying to hide the frown and the burning fury in his eyes. Ellen smiles at him, and pats him on the cheek the way a mother would do to her child. John fights hard against his ego.

"Someone that can handle it," she whispers into his ear, before slipping past him and out the backdoor. He wants to follow, wants to go get that woman and ask her who the _fuck_ does she think she is and make her his right on the hood of his fucking truck. He wants to nail her against her daughter's bedroom door while she sleeps and whisper awful, hurtful things into her ear, if only to make her cum harder and faster than ever. But he has a feeling that if he follows her and even tries to do any of those things, he'll kill whoever she's meeting up with and then himself.

~.~.~

He finds out later that the entire exchange was a dream - especially since Ellen wakes him up from that dream and there's not a hint of the afterglow of sex on her skin. He feels guilty when she walks away from him and he wraps his hand around his cock to the sound of her voice downstairs.

~.~.~

John figures out a way to have sex with Ellen without _really_ having sex with Ellen. How? By asking for cases and then putting his end of the call on mute while he jerked off to her raspy, whiskey-thick voice. Ellen had that sexy southern drawl, and John finds that it is the hottest thing he's heard in _forever_. He also finds that her voice made him cum easy if he could jerk hard enough and fast enough - that he could finish in two or three minutes when it came to her. And whenever she'd slip in 'sugar' or 'honey' or her personal favorite for John, 'sweetness', he'd close his eyes and cum to the sound.

Sometimes he'd picture Ellen there, kissing him as she begged her 'sweetness' to cum for her. When he did picture her, it felt so real that he could almost feel her far-from-delicate hands guiding him to his orgasm. Those were the better ones.

Every time she called, even about trivial things, John made sure to get her on a subject she could rant about and talk to her in private. The boys never noticed a thing. And neither did Ellen.

~.~.~

John struts into the Roadhouse two years after that encounter with the 'Hunter's Remedy', when it's four in the morning and closing hours have long since passed. Ellen's surprised to see him - despite the fact that Sam had called an hour ago saying that both John and the beaten up old truck was gone - but she doesn't deny him a glass and she sticks around to wipe up the sticky bar and keep him warm company.

They talk for approximately ten minutes and thirty seconds - Ellen watches the clock for the entire time - before John leans over and kisses her.

She expects rough and painful but she gets soft and sweet. Something's _wrong_.

"What's wrong, sugar?" she asks, leaning across the bar. John shakes his head before looking into his now empty glass. Ellen doesn't refill it - if she does, she'll never know what's pissing at him.

"I want you so _bad_ ," John whispers, and she knows that he'd been drinking before he came there. There's no way his tongue is that loose after just two three-finger shots of bourbon. "Fuck... I just... _Mary_."

She's shocked to say the least, but she closes her mouth and rounds the other end of the bar. John turns on his stool to watch her, and he gets his own surprise when she straddles his waist and bends down to kiss him. He grips the back of the bar to steady himself before a hand shoots to her waist to hold her in place.

"It's okay, baby," Ellen whispers, kissing down his neck. There's a lingering taste of dirt and grime on her lips, but she doesn't care enough to tell him or move this encounter to the shower. Her hands slide down his chest and between their bodies to work his zipper with an ease and agility that she thought she'd lost. She can feel him through the denim of his jeans, can feel the hard length pressing against her ass and thigh. Eventually, he's heavy in her hands, but she's working his cock and something feels nostalgic about the way he groans.

"Fuck, Ellen," John mutters, his head rolling to one side and his eyes fluttering closed. She flicks and twists her wrist at just the right pace, making sure John is comfortable with every stroke. He seems more than comfortable though, thrusting up into her hand for more friction. Ellen briefly releases his cock to get on her knees between his legs, and she wonders how long it's been since she's actually gave oral on her knees. Probably since her too-early teen years.

She kisses his tip, her tongue darting out to flick at the head and John bucks his hips. "That's the idea, sweetness," Ellen grins, before taking his length into her mouth. He's more long than he is thick - although there's more than enough to fill her up - and she nearly chokes as his tip hits the back of her throat. She pulls away, but John's hips reflexively buck back into her mouth. Ellen smiles around his cock before going back to her work of swallowing down his length.

John grunts as she moves and finally comes to his senses. He couldn't let her suck him off and go to bed - he'd waited too long for her to pass this golden ass opportunity up.

"I've missed you, baby girl," he says, touching her cheek gently. "Bedroom." Maybe it's the way he sounds gently rough, the way he sounds as if he could break her in half but won't. Or maybe it's the use of baby girl that she hasn't heard in so long that makes her want to obey him. Either way, he stands up and hoists her over his shoulder and she doesn't have a damn complaint.

They make it as far as right outside her door, and then John sets her on her feet and slams her against it - pressing his mouth to hers with too much teeth and tongue.

"I am going to fucking destroy you, and you're going to let me," he hisses, the John that walked into her bar thirty minutes ago replaced with something makes her actually scared. His grip on her hips is deliciously painful and she feels so small under his towering frame.

"I hardly think you're man enough for that feat," she replies, because it's not in her nature to sit back and take it like a pretty little princess. John smirks at her and somehow they make their way into the bedroom and onto the bed without coming, seeing as they both had their hands stuck down each other's pants like teenagers.

John pushes his shirt off his broad shoulders, the final button-up ward against the cold sliding to the floor. He slides Ellen's pants off to even the score, and is delighted to find that she's dripping wet under her cute little pair of pink underwear.

"You know, I can't take you seriously when you're wearing pink," he says, before sitting back on her heels to admire her body. From head-to-toe, she was unbelievably sexy - even with the underwear sending off a vibe of innocence and purity. Her hair, once pulled back and away from her eyes, had fallen from it's clip and was framing her face. Her eyes were almost black - not demon black, never demon black - with lust and her lips were red and swollen and pouty.

"You just gonna stare at me all night, honey, or are you going to finish what you've started?"

"I wish I could. You're gorgeous," he breathes involuntarily, and Ellen turns her face away as if he'd slapped her. Maybe his words, gentle and soft where they shouldn't be, did slap her a bit. He hopes that they didn't knock enough sense into her for her to push him away.

"Don't make this... don't make me out to be..." Ellen, who's usually so graceful in her sentences with her southern accent and her odd analogies, is stuttering over her words. John wonders if it's sick for him to find it cute.

"If you're asking me not to look at you like you're the most beautiful woman I've been with in years, then I cannot oblige you," John says, lowering himself so that the majority of his weight rests on his elbows. Ellen shifts so that his knee comes between her thighs and she's able to take some of his weight. But her eyes don't return to his face. "Look at me."

She obeys, and his mouth finds her lips - another overwhelmingly sweet kiss that makes her cold with unease. She pulls away to bring a hand to his cheek.

"I'm sorry I left you." Ellen stares at him for a moment, and then there's a pain her nose that she has to squash away. She wasn't crying over this, she wasn't crying over _him_. Not anymore.

"Fuck me, John Winchester, and don't you stop until you're satisfied," she whispers. The way her accent wraps around the word 'fuck' sends all his blood straight to his cock, and he groans at the sound. There was something blissfully naughty about it - hearing gentle yet gorgeously rough Ellen murmur the word 'fuck' into his ear. It was alluring and dangerous and oh _god_ he wanted her.

John is more than happy to oblige her, and he does exactly that - fucks her into the mattress until she's trembling under him and begging him to stop and give her a break. His name sounds so good in her voice and he doesn't ever want her to stop saying it. He fucks her until his legs and arms are tired and all he wants to do is hold her.

Afterwards she sleeps with her head pillowed on chest and her sweaty locks splayed across his arm. The blonde highlights in her hair glisten under the rising sunlight and John can't help staring at her - she's too gorgeous not to be looked at.

He ignores the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he's going soft and curls against her warm, sleeping frame.


	3. The Four Times Sam Covered for Ellen (and the One Time He Covered For John)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little wingman!Sam for your nerve?
> 
> Also, don't ask me why I'm obessed with John and Ellen being horny teenagers, okay? I don't know.

**1.**

It was Thanksgiving, and John had never had so much to be thankful for. He was thankful Ellen didn't kick his ass for disappearing two weeks before on a hunt and he was thankful that his son was finally proposing to Gabriel and he was thankful that Jo was in a relationship that lasted for longer than a couple of months. He was thankful that Ash wriggled his way out of that destructive relationship with his girlfriend and he was thankful that Castiel was showing interest in someone who wasn't God. He was thankful that he had a family again - and real one, not one where they sleep in a car more often than not and they can never feel the warmth of being happy.

Most importantly, he was thankful for Ellen.

Speaking of which, she wriggles in his lap and he's drawn away from his thoughts of thankfulness.

"Uncomfortable?" he asks, before moving her so that her legs drape over the edge of the couch and her back rests against his chest. She hums in response and pulls him down for an awkward kiss - the angle is all wrong and it hurts John's neck, but he's more than happy to kiss her. Everyone groans.

"Oh, you're all just jealous," she says slyly, smirking at them. John chuckles and she can feel his chest vibrating with laughter. It's oddly soothing. Charlie snorts from somewhere across the room.

"Jealous of you, Ellen? Hell no. Jealous of John? Maybe," she says, and Jo smacks her shoulder. "Babe, your mom is hot. It's where you got it from."

Ellen laughs this time and John smiles sappily at her. He can't help love the sound of her laughter, there's something warm about it - it's not classically feminine or anything of the sort, but it's comforting and sweet.

"I appreciate it, sugar," she drawls. Ash gags somewhere off to John's left but Ellen has shifted upside down and she can't exactly see his expression.

"Yuck. You know, I'm all for being open about your sexuality, but thinking of Charlie and Mama together is kind of- yuck."

"Well, glad we both agree that'll never happen," Jo says possessively, her arm slinging across Charlie's waist. Ellen laughs again, and John smiles lazily - not really a man of many words.

"Oh Jo, stop it, we're just messin'," Ash says, and Ellen can't tell but she can feel his eye roll.

"Yeah well mess with someone's else's. Not mine." She punctuates this with another kiss - that turns into a more heated make-out session.

Another collective groan.

"Okay, you either put up with us kissing, or I can take her upstairs and make her make all kinds of noises that will have you grossed out. Which one?" Jo smacks Charlie's chest but everyone knows she hardly means it. Jo was not opposed to having sex with her girlfriend - in front of family or not.

"I'd rather listen to it than watch it," Ash says, and everyone practically jumps on him. John is drawn into their yelling by Dean, but he just starts laughing at their loud protests. Ellen slips away into the kitchen to get more beers and grab some crackers to soak up the alcohol in their system so that everyone would be able to make the drive home tomorrow night.

As she's reaching for the crackers, someone presses against her and she sighs. John drops his lips to the exposed skin on her shoulder. He presses his groin into her bottom and Ellen bites her lip to refrain from making any unholy noises as her hand falls to grip the edge of the counter.

"How did you escape?" she asks.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," he chuckles, nipping to the side of her neck.

"You diverted the conversation to football," she mutters, pressing back into his groin. John's hand grips her waist while his other hand slides up the thin fabric of her shirt. His hand finds her left breast and he slips it out of the red lace that he knows is there, massaging it and making her head roll forward so that her hair makes a curtain over her face. The hand that was on her waist slips under the waist band of her jeans, into her underwear. His finger slips between her folds and she sighs.

"You're so smart... and funny... and gorgeous... and sexy... and mine...-"

"Mama, can you bring me a beer too?" Jo's voice calls and John groans in annoyance. First moment he gets alone with her in the week that everyone had been here and it's ruined by needy children who can't do a damn thing for themselves. Ellen's more than aggravated as well - it was a rare moment where he was this affectionate, and having family around seemed to open a softer side of him.

"Yeah, I'll bring it 'round," Ellen replies, squeezing her eyes shut and counting to ten. "Damn you for teasing me." She says that last part to John, under her breath where only he can hear her. John chuckles.

"Teased myself too, got a little situation that's pretty visible."

"Go upstairs and wait for me," she replies. "I'll take the beers out and meet you up there."

John's eyes brighten and he hurries out the kitchen just as Sam enters. Ellen is too busy regaining her composure to notice him until he reaches over her to get the crackers.

"You alright, Ellen?" Sam asks, reaching into the fridge. "You look a little... pale." She barely looks up, addressing the closed cabinet instead of him. She doesn't need to - Ellen can see his concerned expression without having to turn around.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine hon. Thanks."

"Have you seen Dad? He kinda of just disappeared."

"He went upstairs. Beer was making him lightheaded," Ellen replies before finally turning around. She expects a confused expression tinged with worry, but instead she gets a shit eating grin and glistening eyes. _Caught_.

"How did you-"

"I heard Dad claim his property, I got curious. I didn't miss any of the good stuff, although I wish I had," he says.

"I'm not property," she hisses. "I'm just-"

"His? Go upstairs, _you_ got lightheaded and Dad put you to bed before going to sleep himself." It's hardly believable - Ellen holds her liquor better than John because she's been drinking longer, but she gives him a grateful smile.

"Oh, and Ellen," he says. "I'm sparing Dad's pride and temper here, you mind sparing my sanity?" She smiles and nods and hurries upstairs, Sam can hardly miss the eager bounce in her stop. When Sam returns with the alcohol and crackers, Jo raises an eyebrow. She seems to be the only one missing the presence of Ellen and John - everyone else lunges for the crackers and alcohol.

"Mom?" she whispers when he drops back down into the couch. Sam shrugs.

"Sick."

"John?"

"Tired."

"Oh." And that's that.

**2.**

Ellen and John had a habit of sneaking off at random times, and although everyone had a general idea of what they were doing, no one quite knew where they were going. Everyone generally had a spot - Sam and Gabriel's were against different trees in the woods, Dean and Castiel's was somewhere behind the shed, Jo and Charlie's was wherever they happened to feel like it - usually somewhere where anyone could easily come across them - but no one had ever come across Ellen and John's 'spot'. Maybe they changed around, maybe it was so good that no one ever _thought_ of it.

It was always a puzzling case, but it was one of those things that made them scratch their heads even though they didn't investigate.

For a long time, no one found their spot. They'd disappear - sneaking off one at a time so that it wasn't obvious - for about an hour, and then they'd return like nothing happened. More often than not, no one noticed, and when they did, they didn't follow. The idea of catching John and Ellen together was only appetizing for Ash, and that was only so that he'd have something for blackmail.

One day, when they're out fishing on the lake, it happens again.

It starts out small - John kissing Ellen and his hands wandering. She swats him away but she's laughing and leaning towards him, not away. Sam watches them. Not in a creepy way, but more so to see if they're going to disappear.

John finally pins her to the beach towel and whispers something in her ear. She whispers back and presses her knee against his stomach to push him off of her. John rolls away and grabs a beer before joining Ash on the dock. Ellen plops herself next to Jo and makes light talk, but her eyes keep darting to the woods and she can't seem to stop looking at John.

Then it happens. One minute she's arguing with Jo about the _proper_ way to gank a demon - killing the vessel or exorcising it - and the next she's gone. John waits a few minutes before following too, and there's a little glisten in his eyes that tells Sam that he's about to have a good time. Jo is too busy attacking Ash, and Charlie was texting someone - her best friend named Garth - and the others are all either fishing or swimming to notice.

Well, everyone except Sam. He follows them into the woods - things wouldn't look so suspicious if all three of them slipped away, he tells himself - and it doesn't take long to follow the husky whispers and Ellen's laughter.

He finds them against a tree. John's hand is down her pants and his other hand is tugging at her hair. Neither of them notice him because he's partially hidden behind a tree, but he makes his presence known quickly enough.

"Ellen went back to the house to get more bait and sandwiches and Dad, you went to help her," he says, before turning on his heel and marching back to the lake.

When Sam makes the announcement, everyone breathes a sigh relief - the images of what was probably happening already running through their minds. Sam let's them live in bliss ignorance, wrapping his arm around a wet Gabriel and swallowing the angel's protests with his mouth.

"You lied to us," he murmurs against Sam's mouth.

"They don't need to know that."

Sam guesses their spot is in the woods. Great minds think alike.

**3.**

The very first time he happens to cover for them is a month after they first start sleeping together. John says it's just an easy fuck, just someone to put his dick in until they can get their lives together. Ellen says nothing, just wipes down the counter and ignores his pressing.

No one knows they're fucking except Castiel, Gabriel and Sam himself. For a long time, Sam thought it was just sleeping around - as soon as something dangerous and life-threatening came around, John would be halfway out the door.

And then he starts the catch the little things. The way John happened to stand too close to Ellen, as if he was drawn to her. The way she reached for John when something went down at the Roadhouse - trying to pull him away from the mess so he didn't get hurt. The way John happened to play her favorite songs on the jukebox over and over again and the way Ellen happened to just _know_ how to fix the truck on hand. Not to mention the way John always ran for her if they went for a hunt together, and the way she covered his ass more often than she covered the boys.

Sam brushes it off. It wasn't love - fuck buddies did shit for each other all the time. Didn't mean it was love.

And he catches them. He was supposed to be asleep an _hour_ ago but there's not enough alcohol in his system and honestly, he'd gotten too used to sleeping in the Impala with Dean. So he pushes his brother's leg off of his - damnit, he was getting too old to share a bed with his brother - and heads upstairs for another bottle of whiskey but instead he finds something he never thought he'd find.

Ellen and John.

She's pressed against the wall with her hands above her head and John's lips are against hers. There's nothing sexual about it - the kiss is slow and sensual and full of something that Sam has never seen his father show before. It's a relaxed kiss - there are no fumbling hands or muffled moans. It's more like two people who love each other making out than two people who fuck each other kissing.

He clears his throat, and John bolts away from her like she's fire. Ellen's eyes find the floor like an ashamed child.

"I didn't see this. This doesn't exist. Jo nor Dean have to know. You two are fucking and that's it."

"Thank you." He's not sure if John or Ellen says it first. Sam nods and marches back downstairs after grabbing a bottle of whiskey on his way. He hears the laughter just as he flicks the downstairs hall light off and he smiles.

_Dad, you sly dog._

And the next day, when it's just John, Ellen and Sam, he tries not to smile when John reaches across the bar and pulls Ellen in for a kiss.

**4.**

One of the most recent times was more discomforting than anything. He'd never really caught them in the act - hands down pants were things he couldn't see and things that fled his mind as soon as there was a distraction. It was easy to cover for someone when he could pretend he didn't know what was going on. It wasn't so easy when he saw it with his own eyes.

It was so easy to barge in on them too. When they fucked - Ellen called it 'making love' under her breath but Sam preferred to keep it crass so that he could be on his toes - they were so quiet that it was almost scary. Sam often wondered how they could be so caught up in the throes of passion, but still wouldn't dare make a peep.

So when he goes to ask John for some wash cloths - he doesn't know why he checks the downstairs bathroom and not the upstairs one - he comes to a screeching halt.

"Hey Dad, do you have-" and he's cut short because Ellen's going down on John and his fists are in her hair and oh god, did they even hear him?

Ellen apparently does because she looks up at him with wide eyes and her hand falls away from Dean's still hard cock. John growls at the lack of contact but then his eyes find Sam's. He fumbles to zip up his pants and Ellen sits on the toilet seat.

"Fu- I'm sorry," Sam stutters.

"Learn to knock," John mutters under his breath. Ellen rolls her eyes and slaps his thigh.

"It's okay, sugar. We should be the ones apologizing." Her voice is tight and she shoots John a glare that suggests that this was his idea. There's something motherly in her voice that makes this entire situation seem all wrong. It was like walking in on his mother having sex with his dad - it was weird and uncomfortable and it made Sam's skin crawl.

"R-right." Sam wonders why he's breathing hard and stuttering when he closes the door - and don't forget to lock it, jesus fuck, don't forget to lock it - and leans against it. Why was he so shaken up about this?

Then he realizes. It was because he did see Ellen as a mother - with her scolding and her wooden spoons and the way she'd drag him by his ear when he did something wrong. He'd never had a womanly figure in his life and the first woman he starts to see as someone he can lean on, Dad goes and fucks.

He realizes he's not just uncomfortable - he's fucking angry.

When John come's out of the bathroom, Sam slams him against the nearest wall. There's fear in his father's eyes briefly and Sam loosens his grip briefly.

"I will tell the others that you two went out to get groceries and you will _not_ break her fucking heart, John Winchester. Else you'll be seeing the end of my fists."

John says nothing, but Sam knows he understands.

Ellen joins them in the living room later, eating a popsicle and sending disgusted shivers up Sam's spine.

**5.**

Sam realized quickly that he was becoming the 'wingman'. His excuses were creative and sometimes believable, and Sam put his skills to use for the other couples more often than not - but today he's covering singularly for John. Only because his father loved himself a good hunt but he'd be damned if he let Ellen catch him sneaking out of the house. She didn't protest a lot of things with him, but she absolutely forbade hunts at this point - just when they were trying to be normal, goddamnit - and those were John's best forms of stress relief.

So John manages to take the truck and slip away while Ellen is sleeping. When she wakes up in the morning, she doesn't miss the absence of her lover nor of Gabriel. Gabriel is sleep though - he doesn't need it, but he quickly found that sleep was very, very fun - John is out god knows where doing god knows what. He was prone to disappearing for days on end back when it was just him, Dean and Sam.

"Hey Sam, how's tricks?" Ellen asks, drawing his attention back to her. She's wearing a too big Metallica t-shirt with way too many holes in it and a pair of plaid pajamas. Sam shrugs, a bit uneasy. That shirt wasn't hers - it was Dad's old working shirt. He wore it when he fixed up the Impala with Dean. It had been a gift from their mother, that much he knew.

"For kids," he replies with a smirk. Ellen actually laughs, and it's nice because it was so hard to coax a laugh out of her with a clean joke - she'd been around Dean and Gabriel too long.

"Where's your father?" she asks, taking down a bowl for herself and riffling through the many cereals. All of them were sugary enough to give him diabetes - Dean, Jo, Ash and Gabriel all had a sweet tooth and even when they weren't around, she kept the pantry stocked with sugary sweet goods ~ especially the cereals ~ -, but Ellen manages to find a plain box of Cheerio's that Sam wonders how he missed.

"I don't know. Last I heard, he needed to go do something important. Whatever that was." Sam gives a half-hearted shrug and shoves a spoonful of Lucky Charms down his throat.

Ellen gives a slow nod, pondering his words before shrugging herself and pouring milk over her cereal. She joins Sam at the dining room table and they talk about his law firm - "Things are good Ellen. I just keep worrying that I'll be a public defender of Jo, Ash, Charlie or Dean one day." - and about the old hunting gig.

They're just finishing up breakfast when John enters the house, grinning from ear to ear. His pupils are dilated - from the sudden lack of bright sunlight or the adrenaline of a hunt, Sam doesn't want to find out - as he sweeps Ellen into a kiss and tastes the cereal on her lips.

"Go take a shower," she says, just low enough that Sam barely catches it. "You smell like a distillery." John nods and ambles off, whistling REO Speedwagon under his breath. Ellen waits until she leaves before sending Sam a wary smile.

"Thanks for trying to spare my sweet lil' soul, sugar," she says. "but I can sniff a lie off a demon a mile away."

And she turns and marches up the stairs because the water's running but they both know that John's asleep in the tub.


	4. Four People That Asked Him to Stay (and The One He Asked)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four people ask John to stay with Ellen, and only one person asks Ellen to stay with John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, so whatever errors made are completely mine.

_**-.-.- Jo Harvelle -.-.-** _

"I think," Jo muttered, staring at her hands. "You can drive a person crazy, simply by not looking at them." It was rainy outside, the storm beating down by the bucketfuls. Lighting painted the sky with bright hues of gray and flashes of white, clouds came together to hide the moon from sight.

John, the boys, Jo and Ash had spent the day helping Ellen move all her stuff from the storage locker to her childhood home. With Roadhouse and the majority of Ellen's contacts burned to the ground, she'd had no one else to call on to move her stuff except for them. Not that he'd minded - it was a cool, rainy April and it hadn't been too much of a job. They'd had the storage locker cleaned out by nightfall, and tomorrow they would begin unpacking.

If the weather kept up this way - cool and workable - and they could get the house protected quick enough, John and the boys would be out on the road by the end of the week. Not that they were in much of a hurry - Jo was really the only one itching to get back on the road, back to the hunt.

"Where have I heard that one before?" John asks. Jo looks at him, her eyes wide and large with pools of chocolate. "Isn't that something your mom told you, when you were... what?"

"I was sixteen. I had a crush on a boy, and wanted advice. You know, we dated for all of a week before I was bored of him," Jo nods, the memory of herself, fawning over some high school boy. It seemed like such a haze now - that little blonde girl who wore crop tops and rolled her eyes and dyed her hair a new color every two weeks and _insisted_ that she was ready to date. She was so different from the woman she was now. The woman with the dirty blonde curls - she refused to wash her hair, it took too long - and the gun collection that almost rivaled her mother's.

"I was just thinking about how everything's changing and I-" Jo pauses, frowns a little and takes a sip of her cold coffee. "-I miss when we were little, and naïve and so unprepared for the truth. I mean, for god sakes, me and Ash didn't find out that everything in the outside world was real until I was sixteen and Ash was twenty-six. We went nearly all of our lives in the dark, thinking that mommy ran a bar for hunters of the animal-like kind. And then, six years later, our childhood home burns to the _fucking_ ground."

If John notices the tears slip onto the wooden tabletop, he says nothing.

"Fuck, John. Just... how did I end up here?" she asks, although she's not looking for an answer. "I never expected... this. When I was six and throwing a white rose on my father's casket, I didn't expect for the hunting life to be this..."

Silence feels the gap between them. He wants to say something. Anything to comfort her. But they're both too smart and too aged to believe the falsities. It might've worked for Dean or Sam, but it wouldn't work for Jo or John. They were two trees cut of the same bark - he always related better with Harvelles than with his own blood.

"I'm sorry," he says, because what else could he say?

"No you're not," she replies, because it's utter bullshit and they both know it. "That's okay."

"You should get some rest," John says, pushing himself to his feet. "We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"I can't go to sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see... I see Ash, dying in that fire. I see mom struggling to get out, but winding up with... and I see myself... and fire and ashes everywhere," she mutters. John knows it all too well - the fire engulfing everything, the smell of charred flesh, the same recurring nightmare - and he has to bite his lip from confessing it.

"I don't think it's raining on the porch," John says, offering a hand. Jo looks up at him with something akin to gratefulness and allows him to pull her up. They have to walk over Dean's sleeping form on the floor to get to the door, but they manage to sneak out without any problems.

Outside the smell of rain assaults their noses, but it's pleasant. It's cold and the swing is wet from a leak in the canopy, but the view is beautiful and neither of them have the heart to return back to the stuffy insides.

"Stay," Jo blurts, leaning on the railing of the porch. The question seems to come from nowhere, but she knows they've been building up to the question all night. She's facing him with her back against the scenery but she isn't crying anymore, which is a plus. John stands and shrugs, popping his knuckles.

"You know I can't save your mom, Jo. I want to stay but... I'm no superhero."

"Then don't try to save her," she spits. Her eyes divert to the gravel, to the way puddles form in the rain. She feels his arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder. "Please, John. She needs you. She needs you and she won't admit it but it'll fucking break her if you leave again. If she loses something else it'll... shit... _please_."

"You know I can't, Jo," he mutters. "I can't help anyone else."

_**-.-.- Dean Winchester -.-.-** _

Hunts with John were usually grueling. The old man didn't sleep, he didn't eat and he barely drank - unless it was alcohol. Dean rarely glimpsed the softer side of his father - during hunts, John was a terrifying man, and after hunts, Dean was on the road before he could witness the cute snuggly moments between Ellen and John.

Only once did he stick around longer than usual - when the Impala broke down and he couldn't leave.

Dean had promised not to be a bother - he tiptoed around his father and his girlfriend, ate breakfast hours before they were awake and worked out in the sun all day. He saw them once at dinner, but he mostly remained silent and tried to fold in on himself. It was weird, thinking of Ellen as his new surrogate mother. He mostly didn't want to consider it, but after the Roadhouse burning down, Ellen had a weird habit of touching people while she talked to them, so John was almost always being affectionate to her in some way.

Not to mention she was always looking at him. Which was sort of weird, but Dean caught himself looking at Castiel the same way so he had no room for judge.

But one night, he was thirsty and although he knew that his father and Ellen were still downstairs, he toughened up and made the trip downstairs for some water. And he catches them.

They're on the couch, with Ellen on John's lap reverse cowgirl. Her hands are cupping his face and her mouth is moving against his. It's slow and sweet and everything about them - about the kiss, about the position, about the way his father's arms fold around her waist comfortably - tells Dean everything he needs to know.

The next morning, John heads out to assist Dean with the Impala. Ellen has to make a few grocery runs, so Dean knows that it's either now or never. He has to talk to John now, before Ellen gets back and starts hitting him overt the knuckles with her wooden spoon.

"Dad, have you ever thought about not hunting anymore and just... staying here?" Dean asks, leaning against the car. He can hear the Impala creak under his weight, and it's a comforting sound. His baby.

"What do you mean, son?" John asks, wiping his hands on a dirty rag - that looks suspiciously like a ripped up shirt.

"Like, with Ellen. Here, at her new house. Maybe popping out a few kids and living the white picket fence life." That last part is meant as a joke, but John's eyes flicker and a look of disgust and disdain crosses his face, briefly covering the longing that was shadowed there before.

"Dean, are you insane?" John snorts, before rolling his eyes. "I don't think she-"

"I think she does. Not the whole kids part, that'd be... weird but, I do thinks she wants to have a normal life with you. She loves you dad, just like mom did. Why don't you give it a chance?" Dean knows he's treading on thin ice hear, he knows that if he makes the wrong step he'll have an angry father and the next few days will be awkward.

"I can't stop hunting, Dean. Do you know how many people-"

"There are other hunters," Dean says calmly, desperately trying not spark his father's temper. "Other hunters who have nothing to live for, who have no life. You and Ellen could actually make something with it - could be normal, if you wanted."

"Define normal Dean," John says, taking a wrench a tweaking something on the car. Dean shrugs. "And try the engine.

"I don't know, dad. It was just a thought. Don't be upset." He sighs and heads around the other side to trie the engine. The car whirs to life, purring like a very loud kitten. Ellen's truck rolls into the driveway, and the conversation dies.

_**-.-.- Ash Harvelle -.-.-** _

Ash did not ask for many things in life. He asked for a constant stream of Wi-Fi wherever he happened to go, his mother and sister to never be brutally killed, and for there always to be at least fifty bucks in his back pocket. That's it. It wasn't much - it wasn't like he was asking for mansions or beautiful girls or to be a billionaire.

Although, when he walks in on John and Ellen arguing about the subject of hunting, he considers that he should add something else to his list of things to ask for. And that's never to walk in on a Winchester-Harvelle argument.

"You are not leaving, John Winchester, and that's final!" Ellen's voice bellows from the top of the stairs. Ash freezes in his tracks as he enters the front door. He spots Sam and Dean at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as awkward as he felt. They spare him a glance before nodding towards the top of the stairs and then to the living area. Ash nods.

"How're you going to stop me?" The trio moves into the living room to wait for them, but the silence is awkward since it's only filled with their parental figures fighting.

"If you walk out that door-"

"-don't ever come back, says you, every time I walk out that door."

"I mean it, this time! Don't even _think_ -"

"Whatever, Ellen. Ash and I'll be back in a few days."

"You are _not_ taking my son!" There's a loud thud - it sounds like Ellen pushed John and he stumbled back. Dean stands and so does Ash, but Sam assures them that they're adults that can solve this problem themselves.

"Says who?"

"Says his mother! Ash is staying right here."

"We need him for research."

"Research my ass! John, you are not taking him!"

"Ellen-"

"John Winchester you get your ass right on out of my house and leave my child."

"He's a grown ass man!"

"I am not losing another Harvelle man to your stupid antics! The answer is no!" Something - probably glass - crashes and breaks - and then there's a string of curses from both ends that makes Ash antsy. Ellen is saying some things, but that's still his mother and he's still very uncomfortable with hearing his mother being called those types of names.

There is silence in the upstairs bedroom as Ash, Dean and Sam wait for the duo to finish arguing so that they could leave. The silence is unnerving, but it's probably just them angrily whispering. It feels like hours, but finally John comes downstairs with a shit-eating grin. Ellen follows him, obviously not done with the conversation. The exasperated look on her face gives away what convinced her to let John leave. Ash keeps his mouth shut, but he recognizes the look in her eyes and feels a similar ache to her.

"You are an asshole, you know that?" she asks, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him to face her. "You bring my kid back in one piece, or I swear to the heavens-"

"You'll give me the Harvelle Vasectomy," he says, smirking cockily at her. "He'll be in the motel the whole time, it's fine." John dips his head to kiss her before realizing they have an audience.

"One week, John," she says, her hand reaching out to graze his.

"One week." John clears his throat and pulls away from her, turning to the boys.

"Shall we?"

Ellen stands in the doorway while they load up the Impala, not bothering to help them pack up the car. There's a shadow over her face that tells Ash that she's going to spend the next week or so snapping at every one and drinking hard whiskey in their bedroom. When Ash is making his way out the door, she draws him in for a too-long hug and pleads him to be safe. He ignores the way she swipes too quickly at her eyes.

In the car ride to Tuscon, Ash gently taps John on the shoulder. Sam is busy on his fancy new phone and Dean is sharpening his knives, so they're not exactly paying attention to him or the way he's been nibbling his bottom lip for the entire drive.

"Why don't you stop hunting?"

"Why would I do that?" John asks, raising an eyebrow. Dean and Sam exchange glances, but their lips remain sealed shut.

"I don't know. It seems as if it would make ma happy," he shrugs. John nods but says nothing, pushing the speeding limit to the max as soon as they broke through the city limits.

It's not mentioned again during the trip or the hunt.

_**-.-.- Sam Winchester -.-.-** _

John was quiet during 'family' get togethers. He didn't say much unless someone talked to him or brought up an hunting story that needed his point of view. The only person he willingly talked to was Dean, and that was only on the topic of cars or hunts.

So Sam is shocked when he finds himself in a conversation with his father - and enjoying it.

They talk about everything from Sam's law firm to John's secret want to start up a mechanic business locally. Sam was surprised to get to know things about his father that he never knew - that John's favorite color was green and he hated the book Huckleberry Finn - but he was even more surprised at how completely unobservant his father was.

When the man was hunting, he went over every detail with a fine tooth comb. He picked at every inch of the case and processed every possible outcome and situation. When he wasn't hunting, it was amazing how completely oblivious he was. The Impala could explode right in front of his eyes but he'd be in too much of a daze to see it, or think much about it.

Sam only notices this, because he catches the way John completely misses the way Ellen longs for him. It's a quiet longing, something you'd be a fool to miss but also something that you'd have to be looking for to see. The sadness in her features every time he kisses her cheek and bounds the porch steps - it's noticeable, it seems, to everyone with a right mind.

Ash, Jo, Dean, and John don't notice it. He, Gabriel and Castiel watch her with silent empathy. Sam decides that he can't stand it anymore - his father couldn't go on being oblivious.

Sam catches John in the shed one night, packing up for a hunt the next morning. For a moment it's awkward, looking around the room. If any federal agent got their hands on the shed behind Ellen's house, they'd have a goddamned field day with all the military grade weapons that shouldn't be there.

"Big hunt tomorrow," he says casually, his eyes flitting over to the tall shadow. John looks up, quirks an eyebrow. "It's really bad. It could be a demon."

"We've dealt with worse demons before, Sam, it's no big deal," John chuckles. It was a reference to _the_ demon, but Sam ignores it.

"Yeah, but... maybe you should sit this one out, dad. Maybe you should just... I don't know... hang back this time. Let us handle this one. We can't learn with you hovering over us like a hawk. I mean, Ellen doesn't hunt."

"Ellen doesn't hunt..." for a moment it sounds vaguely like realization, but then his face gets a stony look. "for a reason. She's done with that now, and that's her choice. But that doesn't mean it's mine."

"I mean, she's your girl. If Gabe ever asked me to... I'd stop hunting. And if Charlie asked, Jo would stop. Same for Ash and Bela and Dean and Cas. I'm just saying. Maybe you should give it some thought," the younger Winchester shrugs lamely. He feels like every conversation with his father is just a losing battle, always putting him down and below.

"She hasn't asked yet," John says defensively. He slips a gun or two inside his jacket, and a knife into his boot. His father, always thinking about the _worst_ possible outcome. Maybe that's a good thing for this life, but maybe it's the worst possible mindset to possess.

"But _we_ have. You know, your children, her children. What happened to 'I would do anything for you, Sammy'," Sam presses. "I'm asking you to do this for me."

He knows he's got his father right there, right on the edge of admitting why the hell he couldn't just fucking stop and look around him for once. But John shuts down, gives him a hard, stony glare.

"No means no," John says. "Go get ready, make sure your angel knows what to do tomorrow. Like you said, big day."

__._._ Ellen Harvelle _._.__

They're both the same - a grieving widow with two kids to raise and a complete loss on where to go. It'd been over twenty years and John could still envision himself in her spot. Instead of crying over cold coffee and croissants however, it had been whiskey and tequila paving a fire down his throat.

Right now she's braiding Jo's hair - Jo is twenty-three but the feel of someone's hands running through her hair is always the most soothing thing to her - and drinking coffee, muttering something under her breath to Jo about the psychology class she took for six months back when Jo was still a toddler. John watches her over his beer from across the room, watches the calm look on her face as she talks and drinks and talks and drinks.

She'd just lost everything two weeks ago. It was like losing Bill all over again, losing the Roadhouse. And here she was, braiding with expertly nimble fingers, pausing only to grab her cup and sip.

"Dad? Dad!" Dean's gruff voice bellows. Ellen looks up, her chocolate eyes cold and sad, before going back to her braiding.

"What is it?" John asks, careful to keep his voice from sounding too sharp. Even so, Dean flinches before clearing his throat.

"You were staring. See something you like?" he asks, his eyebrow cocked and a shit-eating grin on his lips that suggests that John has been caught. Ellen again, spares them a glance, but Jo is half-asleep on her thigh and muttering for her mother not to stop. Charlie calls something about being jealous from her spot behind her laptop.

John ignores his son, running a hand through his dark sweaty locks before slamming his drink down. He couldn't take this.

"I need some air," John mutters, slipping away from the group of people gathered in Ellen's living room. He finds himself sliding out of the door in the kitchen, onto the porch that winds around to the front of the house. John inhales the fresh rainy air, exhaling the ash and smoke from the Roadhouse. It had been a long, exhausting week - not to mention the fact that it's been an emotional rollercoaster.

John remembers the stunned shock on Jo and Ash's faces as they watched their childhood burn to nothing but Ash, remembers the way Ellen had held them with a stoic expression, the way she'd broken down in the truck ride towards the abandoned house - unable to keep going on with a straight face.

He closes his eyes against the memory, grips the railing of the porch. It had been heart-wrenching, watching her face curl into one of sorrow as she lost whatever composure she had on the open roads of Minnesota.

"Whatcha thinkin' bout?" a familiar whiskey laced voice asks, the slight southern rasp perking John's ears. Her voice wasn't usually as deep or raspy - it must've been the crying she'd done with Ash and Jo earlier that day.

"You," he mutters. Ellen joins him on the railing with a cocked eyebrow and he rolls his eyes - tries not to stare at the emptiness in her eyes that too much resembles that of a carcass. "Not like _that_ \- I swear, you could be Dean's mother."

"No, I was just thinking about what you're going to do... Jo's gonna want to get away from this - she's already bouncing on her heels, ready to hit the life again. Kid isn't exactly discreet about missing the open road. And Ash... Ash isn't going to hanker down forever. There'll be too much between you too - too much pain and angst and... he'll leave. He'll leave and... and you'll be lonely."

"I'll be alone but I won't be lonely," Ellen corrects, and she shows a faint hint of a smile that gives John false hope. "There's a difference. For now, I'll enjoy the company - you, the kids, the boys, Charlie and the heaven boys. And when Jo and Ash head out then I'll..." Her voice trails off and takes her smile with it, leaving John to fill in the blanks himself. He doesn't like what his mind comes up with - doesn't like the horrendous images that flash in his mind.

"No. No, you're out, Ellen. God... god for fuck's- no," John insists, tripping over his adamancy. Ellen rolls her eyes and removes a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. He doesn't know how she can look at flames the same after her most recent tragedy, but she lights the cigarette and inhales deeply.

"I'm not going to sit back and leave it to my kids to avenge the lives of those that couldn't escape the roadhouse," she says, exhaling the smoke through her nose. "Some of my closest friends were there, John. They - and those with families - deserve some clarity. I intend on giving it to them."

"I can't allow it, Elle. I'm sorry," John says turning his face away from the smoke of her cigarette. He knows he should be, but he's surprised when she snorts and slaps her hand against the railing. The rain water that had been pooled on it splashes on his sleeve.

"Elle died with Bill Harvelle, John. I'm _Ellen_ now. And I'm going to do what I need to do," she hisses. John turns and grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her a little. The cigarette slips from her fingers, falls into a puddle on the porch.

"You can't do that. I lost... I lost..." he swallows hard. "You can't."

"And what's going to stop me?" she asks. Their faces are close together, so close that he can smell the cigarette smoke on her breath and the ash on her skin. She staring at him like he's going to say something that would make her slap him.

"What is it that I have to do to make you stay?" he asks, his voice low - barely above a whisper.

Ellen opens her mouth, considers saying something, but changes her mind a pulls away. Her boot lands on the cigarette on her way back into the house.

John doesn't hear another peep from her about hunting again.


End file.
